Falling in Love...Again conclusion

 Falling in Love...Again

Conclusion

I stared at her, unable to speak. My mind raced backward, counting years, trying to line up timelines. The resemblance wasn't just a coincidence. Brigitte had to be...

"Surprise," Avery said softly, her voice tinged with both humour and vulnerability.

I looked at Brigitte, my throat dry. "May I ask how old you are?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Twenty-four," she said without hesitation, her smile calm, through her eyes she seemed to study me as closely as I was studying her.

Twenty-four. The timeline fit. Brigitte...could... had to be my daughter.

I turned back to Avery, who was watching me intently. Her expression was open, inviting me to react however I needed to.

"You knew," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

She nodded. "I've known since the day she was born. I never told you because I didn't want to disrupt your life. But now... well, now it feels like the right time."

The room felt suddenly smaller, the weight of the revelation pressing down on me. Yet, beneath the shock, there was something else, an odd sense of connection, a warmth I hadn't expected.

Brigitte touched my arm gently. "It's a lot to take in, I'm sure," she said. "But I'm glad we're meeting now."

I nodded, trying to gather my thoughts. "I... I don't even know what to say."

The pieces of our lives were falling into place, but it was anything but ordinary. That's what I loved about it. I found myself not just stepping into fatherhood, but rediscovering Avery, the woman who'd captivated me years ago and embracing her unique passions.

Brigitte and I had grown close quickly, though I was still stunned by her resemblance to Avery and to me. Conversations that started about her career as a nurse turned into late-night talks where we laughed and shared more than I thought possible with a daughter I had only just begun to know.

She carried herself with the same confidence Avery always had, though her independence had its own flavour. Watching her step into my life felt like both a gift and a second chance.

One evening, Avery limped toward me, leaning on a sleek black cane. Her short-leg walking cast, white and well-worn, peeked out from beneath the hem of a red leather skirt. I watched her every step, the way her movements were slowed, purposeful, and confident.

When she finally settled beside me, she met my gaze with a knowing smile. "You like watching me, don't you?" she teased.

I chuckled, caught but unashamed. "I'd be lying if I said no."

Her hand brushed mine. "I've always been drawn to this part of myself. The casts, the crutches... they're more than just accessories. They make me feel strong and different in ways I can't quite explain."

One afternoon, Brigitte and I sat at the kitchen table while Avery moved gracefully around the room, her cane clicking against the tile. Brigitte's gaze lingered on her mother, and she glanced at me, her expression thoughtful.

"You know, Miles, my mom's not the only caster out there, there's a whole community of people like her,people who find comfort, beauty, or even empowerment in being casted or on crutches. It's not just a quirk; it's part of their identity. I've helped her over the years because I understand what it means to her."

I glanced back at Avery, watching the confident sway of her hips despite the cast that stiffened her leg. "It's... unique. But I've come to admire it. It's her, and I wouldn't want her any other way."

Brigitte smiled knowingly. "Good. Because she wouldn't change, even for you."

"There's something else you should know, Miles," she began, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.

I tilted my head, intrigued. "What is it?"

She hesitated for a moment, then laughed softly. "I guess you could say... fetishes run in the family. I'm not into casting like Mom is, but I have my own... let's call them unconventional attractions."

"You're serious?"

"Completely," she said, her tone light but her eyes sincere. "I figured if you're okay with Mom, you can handle me too."

I shook my head, a chuckle escaping despite myself wondering what her fetish and sexual attraction was.

As the weeks turned into months, our lives found a rhythm, unexpected but deeply fulfilling. I grew closer to Brigitte, proud of the woman she'd become and grateful to have a place in her life. Avery and I grew stronger together, rediscovering our love while embracing her passions. She never shied away from expressing who she was, and I never stopped marveling at her courage.

One evening, as the three of us sat on the porch, watching the sunset, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Avery rested her crutches against her chair, her long leg cast stretched out comfortably, and Brigitte sipped her drink, her laughter filling the air.

"By the way, Miles, tomorrow's my day off, and I've been thinking... it might be time to explore my own little interest again and introduce you to it, it's called Neo-Medical Chic." She winked, clearly enjoying my stunned expression.

I heard her before I saw her and when I did...

That soft, deliberate slide of metal against fabric, the steady tap, tap of her forearm crutches meeting the floor, and the sharp, confident click of her 4 inch heels, it was her signature sound she said. A symphony of grace and strength. My pulse quickened, knowing she was on her way, and I turned toward the doorway just as she appeared.

There she stood, framed by the light spilling in from the hall, her silhouette was pure sexual defiance. The polished chrome of her long leg calipers gleamed against the fabric of her pantyhose, the braces perfectly sculpted to the shape of her strong and healthy legs. Her forearm crutches, sleek and sophisticated, rested easily in her hands, their leather cuffs hugging her wrists.

She paused, letting me take her in, her head held high with the same confidence has her mom that always left me breathless. Her lips curled into a teasing smile, and with a slow, deliberate movement, she slid her legs forward. The metal of her brace glided against her skirt with a faint, almost musical sound, the kind that made my chest tighten in admiration and something more.

"You're staring," she said softly, her voice a mix of amusement and affection.

Of course, I was. How could I not? Watching her walk was like watching a masterful performance, each step deliberate, calculated, and impossibly graceful. The way her braced legs moved in perfect rhythm with her crutches, it was mesmerizing. They tipped in sync with her stiletto heels, creating a rhythm that was uniquely hers, a balance of vulnerability and power that made my heart ache in the best way.

As she moved closer, I couldn't take my eyes off her. The calipers hugged her perfect legs like a work of art, the steel both strong and delicate. And those heels, high, impossibly sleek, they were her rebellion, her defiance of expectations. Together, they transformed her movements into something extraordinary, something utterly captivating.

When she reached me, she stopped, leaning on her crutches. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I could see her mom and the quiet pride in them. She loved the way I looked at her..

"You're incredible," I managed to say, my voice rough with emotion.

She smiled, tilting her head slightly, her hair falling over one shoulder. "Do you see it now?" she asked softly. "That's why Leanne wishes I was crippled. That's why I chose this?"

That is when her girlfriend Leanne walked in the room smiling. She reached out and kissed Brigitte then, her hand was brushing against the cool metal of her brace, tracing the sleek line of it down to her ankle. The contrast of the cold steel against her warmth sent a jolt through her, and I found myself marvelling at how seamlessly she merged strength and elegance, defying my expectation.

Leanne said "It's not just the braces," she continued, her voice dipping lower. "It's how they make her feel. Every step is dangerous in those high heels. And when she sees the way I look at her, my sexy crippled girlfriend..." She trailed off, her gaze softening. "It makes it all the more worth it."

I swallowed hard, Leanne's hand moving from the brace to her hip, feeling the solidity of her stance, the quiet strength that radiated from her. "You're so beautiful," She whispered, though the word felt inadequate to describe her. She wasn't just beautiful, she was radiant, unstoppable.

She shifted her weight, letting one of her braced legs slide forward again with that soft, deliberate glide, between Leanne legs. I could hear the faint creak of leather and steel, and I knew that sound would stay with me forever.

At that moment, with our unconventional, perfectly imperfect family around me, I knew we had found our happily ever after.

The end
K